


In The Morning

by 3littleowls



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Frottage, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Sensation Play, Top Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Utilizing a few tricks of his former trade, Q just might be the only person who can help Bond with his problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Morning

Q hummed softly to himself as he unscrewed the spy helicopter’s rotor from it’s housing. It felt good using his hands again- these days he was so often lost in a sea of code or mired in paperwork. He had blocked out a couple hours in his schedule to take apart the helicopter one of the agents had seized from him.

“...a roll of duct tape will do.”

Q rolled his eyes when he heard Bond’s voice coming from someplace down the row of workbenches. Bond seemed to gravitate to his branch when he was bored. He’d find things to fiddle with and annoy the technicians-or flirt with them. Q slapped the screwdriver down in frustration. Best to nip this in the bud, or Bond would find a way to get into mischief and waste all his precious bench time.

“Don’t you think you should go to medical for that, Mr Bond?” one of the technicians asked. 

Q walked around the corner and frowned. Bond was hovering over the desk of a nervous looking weapons developer. “Double-oh seven, how many times have I told you that we repair your broken equipment, not you. Now please, report to Dr Jefferies. He’s quite proficient.”

“I don’t need Dr Jefferies, I need some tape to protect a laceration. I know you have something around that will hold long enough to get me home.” Bond quirked a smile, but there was something off. Q looked at him up and down. Bond was shaking just the slightest tremor and he looked pale. 

“Come into my office,” Q told him. Bond was likely suffering from an adrenaline crash or struggling with the first stages of shock. He didn’t think Bond was going to faint, but it was best if Q got him to sit down someplace quiet.

To Q’s surprise, Bond simply nodded and followed him without argument. Q unlocked his door and ushered him inside. 

“Sit down over there, if you please,” Q waved to a tatty sofa in the corner that he often used as a bed on late nights. Bond sat and Q could feel his eyes on him as he pulled an emergency first aid kit from a mount on the wall and brought it over.

“Well, let’s see it,” Q said.

Bond hesitated. He glanced over Q’s shoulder. “Close your blinds.”

“Shy? Really, Bond?” Q handed Bond the first aid kit and went to his laptop on his standing desk. At a command prompt, he executed a script that shuttered the blinds and turned off the security cameras near the entrance. 

“I’m calling medical if it looks bad, you realize,” Q warned Bond as he logged off his computer. He could hear the soft rustle of fabric as he waited the few seconds for the lock screen to appear.

“I don’t think you will,” Bond replied. 

Q turned and blinked in surprise. “Oh.” Livid welts ran across Bond’s shoulders and down his back. A few had broken the skin. “Who exactly was the moron who did this to you, Bond?” 

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I thought I’d have to explain.”

Q stepped over, thoughts racing. He gave himself time to think as he took out a pair of gloves from the medical kit and snapped them on. “It’s not that bad, but one of them will want to seep through your shirt, clot and stick. If this is all of the damage, I can clean it up.”

Bond shifted as Q sat next to him so he could work on his back. Q tore open a antiseptic wipe and dabbed gently at the places where he had been cut through. Bond shivered, and Q put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Bond instinctively leaned into his touch. Q let out a soft growl.

“What?” Bond asked.

“How honest are we being with each other? Because I can patch you up and we can pretend I don’t know what this is, but I’d rather have a frank talk. I’m a little concerned with what I’m seeing.”

“I don’t have anything to hide. It was consensual,” Bond grumbled.

“You asked to be improperly whipped and kicked out on the street before you had recovered? You’re bleeding and showing signs of sub drop. Your partner was either immensely irresponsible or a novice.” Q threw away the wipe and took a large plaster from the kit. 

Bond peered over his shoulder and smirked. “Why Q, are you kinky?”

Q frowned. “After what I just said, that’s your best question? You must be really rattled.”

Bond rolled his eyes and rephrased mockingly, “Why Q, how do you know all of that? Late night internet browsing?”

“Better- and no. My first job out of uni was a tech position. I was bored. Hopelessly, utterly bored. I programmed on the side and did some other, um, projects that eventually got the attention of Six, but they didn’t supplement my pay.” 

Q paused in his story and pulled off the gloves. “All done. Since I’ve seen you skip in here with knife wounds, I think you’ll live. Duct tape! Really, Double-oh seven! You could keep plasters in your locker. Put your shirt on.”

While Bond did up the buttons on his shirt, Q snatched a throw that was folded on the arm the sofa and draped it around Bond’s shoulders. Bond squinted at the blanket but didn’t shrug it off. “You were saying?”

“To make a long story short, I went pro. I had a good reputation as a dom and I had been in the scene for a while. I didn’t have a lot of clients; it was just something to do, really. Something more rewarding than fixing printers.” Bond turned a surprised grin at him and Q felt warm spots of color build on his cheeks. He was comfortable with his past, he _was_. He just didn’t feel the need to trot it out at work. 

“You have hidden depths, Q.”

Q leaned back on the sofa, intentionally in Bond’s personal space, trying to be a grounding presence without being intrusive. “Not very hidden. It’s declared in my confidential background file in case someone ever gets the bright idea to try to use it against me or to insinuate I was a prostitute. Disclosure sometimes is its own security. I can’t say I expected this from you, either. Although when I think about it, it makes sense. I used to have a couple type-A clients. Have you been exploring this for very long?”

“No,” Bond answered. 

Bond didn’t volunteer any details and by the set of his jaw, Q didn’t think probing would extract any out of him. Q felt a little cheated after offering his explanation, but he wasn’t going to press. Not now, anyway.

“Hmhm. Well, if you want to try again, I know some good, responsible people still in the business. In the meantime, sit here until you’ve leveled out. Would you like some tea?”

“Why don’t you do it for me?” Bond asked.

“What?” Q gaped.

Bond looked over at him. “Be my top next time. You're a professional…”

“Was!”

“It makes sense. You already display concern for my welfare and a strong desire to follow protocol and do things the right way.” Bond flapped the corner of the blanket at him like it was evidence.

Q shook his head vigorously. “I’m your Quartermaster and technically I’m your superior! Do you realize how inappropriate that would be?”

“You also conveniently have Secret level clearance. I don’t even have to lie about my ‘history.’”

Q had a sudden sinking feeling. “Oh god. You didn’t tell her you had been tortured, did you?”

Bond lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh shit. Shit.” Q rubbed his face. “Bond, are you really alright?”

Bond smirked. “Like you said, I’ve had worse.”

“Still-triggers are important...good god. Look, we can think through this. I’m sure we could fabricate something to tell your partners. What is it…. What do you like? Are you more comfortable with a woman? I might be able to…” Q knew he was babbling. He could imagine what a train wreck that scene had been with Bond having to keep important details hidden and being _Bond_. Recalcitrant wasn’t a strong enough word.

“I think I’d be more comfortable with you, Q,” Bond finally said.

Q glared at him. “Not fair.” Q wouldn’t let himself even let himself think what it would be like to take someone like Bond apart, the challenge in it, the euphoric feeling from that amount of trust given to him. 

_Shit_. He was so, so very fucked.

~~~

Q heard a knock at his front door. He looked up at the clock in confusion. He had no idea who would be visiting after supper hours. Perhaps it was a neighbor complaining that the sound on his telly was too loud? Q hit the mute button and went to the door. He was surprised when he looked through the peephole and saw Bond standing on his mat.

“What the hell, Bond?” Q asked through the reinforced wood as he disabled his security system and series of locks. He opened his door and Bond smirked at him.

“Good evening to you, too. Are you going to ask me in?” Bond’s voice was rough and dry, as if he hadn’t used it in awhile.

Q waved him in and shut the door and reactivated the security. “I thought you were in Portugal?”

“The mission is finished. I just came back from checking in with M and one of your assistants,” Bond said, almost accusingly.

“I don’t work every day, Bond. Is something the matter?” Q asked. Bond looked wound up, twitchy. “Did someone follow you?”

“No, this is more of a social call. I was hoping you had thought about my proposal,” Bond tried for charming and failed by a mile, his smile too forced, his body almost humming out of it’s skin. James Bond wasn’t being charismatic. Something was indeed, wrong.

“I see. Do you...need to talk about it?” Q winced as the words came out. Bond wasn’t the type to drop by to chat about his problems.

“If I needed to talk about it, I’d be visiting the headshrinkers down in psych. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll find someone else. Or I’ll…” Bond made a frustrated growl.

“Attempt to drink yourself to death,” Q said wryly. “I know the drill, your self destructive streak is legendary.”

“So _help me_ ,” Bond bit out.

Q ran his hand through his hair. “We still need to discuss this. How this could affect our working relationship, what it is exactly you want from me and what I am willing to do. Safewords, triggers-I had an intake form for clients…” Q turned to find his laptop.

“Q, for fuck’s sake!” Bond growled.

Q spun around. “Bond, I can’t help you if I don’t even know what you want!”

“Make it stop...I’m so wound up I can’t think, I can’t eat or sleep…” Bond slapped a frustrated hand against Q’s wall.

“Okay, Okay. Just...don’t break anything.” Q nibbled his lower lip in thought. “This is highly irregular, but let’s see if I can get you sorted with something basic. Take off your jacket, shoes, and socks and roll up your shirt sleeves. I’ll be right back.”

Q’s mind was reeling when he left Bond to find what he needed in his bedroom. He should say no. He wasn’t prepared at all, especially to handle an emotionally compromised partner. It had cost Bond to come to him, to ask him for assistance. It was flattering, and that was compelling, but Q really did want to take care of him. It had been a long time since he himself had had such satisfaction.

Bond was still working on his cuffs when Q reappeared. Q took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want to have drawn out negotiations, but let’s get a few things straight before we begin. First, you aren’t giving me anything to go on, so I want you to say ‘stop’ if at any time you feel uncomfortable. This isn’t the place for toughing it out and not call Uncle.”

Bond titled his head. “No fancy safewords?”

Q shook his head. “Just ‘stop’ will do tonight. I’m not going to have you begging.”

Bond chuckled at that and Q scowled at being taunted. “That brings me to the second thing- You have to accept my complete authority, Bond. I’ll allow you to speak and ask me questions, but for this to work, I’m in charge here. Can you do that? God knows you can’t do it at work.”

Bond grinned. “Are you going to punish me if I don’t?”

Q thinned his lips. “No, I’ll just kick you out of my flat. Are we clear?”

Bond dropped his smirk, which was promising. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now…” Q swiveled his head and scanned his furniture for possibilities. He walked over to the dining table and dropped a roll of red bondage tape and a set of safety scissors on the surface. He pulled out a chair. “Take a seat.”

Bond tensed, looked predatory. “Don’t tie me to a chair.”

Q pointedly pushed the chair back in. Misstep already. Damn. This was going to be more challenging than he expected. He didn’t let his inner thoughts show on his face and smiled encouragingly. “Right. Very good, Bond. That’s exactly that kind of cooperation I want from you.”

Bond almost seemed to deflate a little in response to the praise. Good.

“The sofa, then. Just sit and try to take slow, deep breaths,” Q instructed.

Bond sat. “Is this going to be a yoga lesson?” He quipped.

Q frowned. “I supposed it could be, depending how flexible you are. A yoga instructor might take more of your lip then I will.” He took the roll of tape off the table. “Shush now-hands palms together. That’s it. Breathe, now.” 

Q felt Bond’s eyes track him as he wound the tape three times around his wrists. Q was careful and kept the tape lying flat as he applied it to Bond’s skin. He kept enough tension on to draw Bond’s forearms together as he worked the tape in a long spiral just before Bond’s elbows. He snipped the end with the scissors when he was satisfied with his work

Q nudged Bond’s feet up on the cushions so he was partially reclining, cut a strip of tape off the roll and simply secured his ankles together. 

“Comfy?” Q asked, gently squeezing Bond’s foot.

“Q, I can get out of this with my hands tied in front of me,” Bond said, if he was stating the obvious.

“Well maybe you _could_ , but the tape is stronger than you think. If you just tell me to stop I’ll cut you out with those handy scissors. I’m not really trying to restrain you. This is more of a friendly reminder that I’m going to be seeing to everything tonight.” Q tucked one of the sofa pillows behind Bond’s back where he was leaning against the armrest.

Q gave in to the temptation to run the tips of his fingers through the short strands of Bond’s hair. He petted him for a moment, and was rewarded with a minute lean into his hand for a firmer scalp rub. “That’s better,” Q said softly. “I have a few things to take care of, and I want you to try to relax and calm down for me. Deep breathing, clear your mind the best you can. Understand?”

“I just sat on an airplane for hours. If having happy thoughts and sitting still was all that I needed…” Bond started to complain, shifting impatiently. 

Q tugged his hair. “It’s not the same thing, and maybe I’ll decide to explain it later. You have no place to be right now and no choice, unless you want to go home. Do what I say.”

Bond rolled his eyes and Q pulled his hair again before leaving him. “It helps to breathe through your diaphragm.”

Bond sighed and Q left him to it. Q dimmed the lights in his flat, just enough so he could see. He then turned on his stereo system, found a playlist of soothing instrumentals he listened to late in the evenings if he wanted to settle down. It wasn’t as obvious as a soundtrack of chirping frogs and running water and he thought the music would be unlikely to offend anyone’s tastes. He didn’t want it to be distracting.

Q pulled out his mobile and opened a familiar application. When he was done, he put it on mute before shoving it back in his pocket. He then moved around the flat quietly- never going too far away- and did some light straightening up. He kept a casual eye on Bond and caught him looking for him a couple times. Q simply flashed him a reassuring smile and kept to his work. He was waiting Bond out, just giving the man some time to be still.

When Bond’s uneasy shifting on the cushions had stopped, Q sat on the end of the sofa with a novel. Bond watched him through expectant, half-lidded eyes, but Q just opened his book and started to read. He had left off this story some time ago and it took him a minute of page flipping to remember the plot.

“People paid you for this?” Bond asked.

“Yep,” Q replied absently. “If you _were_ paying me, I’d have you kissing my shoes for your sass. I’m giving you a lot of leeway for being a novice.”

Bond sighed.

The doorbell chimed and Bond jerked in reaction. Q smiled at him as he got up to answer the door. “That’s dinner, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Bond grunted.

Q answered the door and unpacked the takeaway on the table. He carefully scooped saag paneer and curry on the plate and tore a fluffy naan into small bits. He knew Bond was watching him carefully as Q settled back on the sofa, balancing the one plate in his lap. Q popped a bit in his mouth and hummed in pleasure. “If this place ever goes under I’ll starve. Best Indian in Hackney.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Bond replied sarcastically, eyeing the food in interest.

“If you’d like some, all you have to do is ask,” Q shrugged taking another bite.

“This would be when I remind you my hands are taped up whilst I sit on your sofa dying of boredom.”

“How dramatic,” Q replied, wiping his fingers on a serviette. “Why don’t you ask me for what you want and let me worry about the details? It’s similar to how things work at the office, but with more asking and less being a demanding arsehole.”

“Q, can I please have something to eat?” Bond asked him, chuckling.

Q grinned and sidled closer, until Bond got the point and put his feet on the floor. Q let their thighs touch, and set the plate on Bond’s lap. Q picked up some naan, swiped it through the curry, and brought it up to Bond’ lips. Bond smirked and opened his mouth so Q could feed it to him. Bond stretched forward a little and tried to capture Q’s fingertips in his lips, but Q pulled his hand back quickly.

“Now, now. None of that,” Q scolded gently. He got another morsel from the plate and offered it to Bond, who took it delicately from his hand. 

“It is good,” Bond said after chewing.

Q took a bite for himself and grinned as Bond looked momentarily disappointed. “See what you miss when you only eat at places that take reservations?”

“I’ll need to go slumming more often,” Bond agreed. 

They settled into a rhythm, Q feeding Bond with tender hands between taking some for himself. Bond stopped trying to trade quips and the resulting silence was easy and warm. Bond leaned in, his shoulder resting companionably against Q’s and Q could feel the tension melting out of him. 

When they had emptied the plate, Q pressed his fingertips against Bond’s lips. “Go ahead.”

Bond darted the tip of his tongue out to the pads of Q’s fingers to taste before licking down their length. Q watched in fascination as his ice blue eyes slowly darkened as he sucked Q’s index finger into his mouth. Q groaned as Bond swirled his tongue around it as he kept up the sweet, wet pressure.

“Seems like you’ve sucked things before, Bond,” Q teased and pulled out his finger with a soft pop. Bond chased his hand and nipped playfully at a pad.

“Did you expect anything else?” 

Q shrugged noncommittally. “I try not to think about who my coworkers are shagging. Well, unless they are wankers who leave their earpieces on while banging an informant.”

Bond chuckled. “That was one time, and I apologized!”

Q sighed and looked put out and Bond laughed. Bond had relaxed into the sofa and probably didn’t even realize he wasn’t as stressed any longer. Q slid an arm around Bond’s shoulders. Bond might want someone to thrash him on occasion and Q could certainly do that, but he had suspected tonight Bond really just needed someone to take over and look out for him. He doubted even casual sex, either as a necessary tool on missions or for recreation, really satisfied a need for comfort.

Bond didn’t mention the arm or that they were more or less snuggled on the sofa together. Q stretched for the telly remote and turned his show on again.

“ _Top Gear_? Really Q?” Bond yawned against Q’s shoulder. It was endearingly domestic.

“You know how much I like to snark at amateurs. They did a hack job on that Renault last week.”

“Hmm. I don’t think they have your budget.” Bond said slowly, becoming a heavier weight on Q’s shoulder.

“They don’t. If you are a very good little agent, I’ll show you my Ducati I’m working on.” Q turned the volume down a notch.

“Are you going to let me ride your fancy motorbike, Q?” Bond teased, almost slurring now, fighting sleep. Q petted his hair.

“Not on your damn life.”

Q could feel the stretch of a smile where Bond was nuzzled into this shoulder. Q kept quiet now, until Bond’s breathing deepened and he succumbed to exhaustion. Q smiled, feeling a warm wave of affection mixed with pride. He had been good at his little part-time job and maybe he missed this himself, sometimes. 

Q watched the rest of the show really just to make sure Bond was deeply asleep. Then Q moved away quietly but deliberately- sneaking about would set off Bond’s survival instincts, even when resting. He let Bond droop down until he was lying on his side on the sofa. He reached for the scissors and while resting a gentling hand on Bond, cut through the tape. He left it stuck to him for now- Bond could pick it off later.

Q pulled a throw over Bond and smiled, himself content. 

~~~

“Channel set to private. It’s just me on if you need anything, Double-oh seven,” Q spoke into the microphone in his headset.

“You’re not going to hand night monitoring over to your minions?” Bond asked.

“Leo comes in two hours from now- I’ll let him take over then. Get some sleep, Bond. You ran through most of the streets of Istanbul today.” Q pulled up some code he had been working on earlier and tapped absently at his keyboard.

“That’s the problem, Q. I can’t just turn it off like a tap. I takes hours for the adrenaline to wear off. Sometimes days.”

“A little telly and Indian food seemed to help,” Q smiled. It had been weeks since Bond had left his flat in the early hours of the morning. Besides Bond leaving a scrawled “Thanks” on a serviette, they hadn’t spoken of it.

“It did…” Bond trailed off as though he wanted to say something more.

Q saved his work. He wasn’t going to get any programing done. “Power exchange is a new thing for you, isn’t it?”

He could hear the clink of ice in a glass, a swallow, Bond’s normal self-medication routine.  
“Recent, yes. When I went undercover with Wilkins. She had infiltrated that weapons cartel and had to tie me up so they would think she had captured me, so I could get inside the facility. We ended up waiting a while for the ringleader. I knew I wasn’t in any imminent danger and Wilkins was calling the shots.” Bond sipped his drink again. “I never doze off waiting for a target. I did that day.”

“I see. It made you curious. You tried to recreate the same experience later.”

Bond grunted.

“Well, my offer still stands. I can help you find some good people so you don’t end up with a ham-fisted amateur.” A surprising spiral of jealousy twisted in Q’s chest after he said it.

Bond hesitated. “You wouldn’t…?”

Q’s eyebrows crawled up at how _unsure_ Bond sounded. The man usually flirted as easily as breathing.

“We shouldn’t. We work together, James.” He regretted it, he did. Q could depend on logic and reason, and getting involved with Bond, even casually, was not sensible. “There are times I would love to beat the shit out of you, I admit. Usually when you’ve destroyed yet another bit of my beautiful tech,” Q added, trying to cover the rejection with their usual snark.

“Since when do you do things by the book?” Bond asked quietly.

Q’s hand drifted to the center of his chest. His heart had started hammering double time. “You know, this isn’t my job anymore. Why don’t you do the normal thing and take me to one of your overpriced restaurants and see how things go before you proposition me?” The words were out of his mouth before he had thought them over.

“Done,” Bond replied quickly.

Q swallowed. He had agreed so quickly, Q wondered if Bond had pulled his strings without him realizing it.

~~~

“It wasn’t your fault,” Q told Bond as he poured a measure of vodka into a glass of seltzer. Bond frowned at the diluted drink when Q handed it to him. Q didn’t expect him not to drink something after the mission had gone tits up, but he also wasn’t going to be a party to Bond destroying his liver, either.

“Well, whose fault was it, then?” Bond gritted out, staring at the bubbles in his glass if they offended him.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but you can’t actually control your target. We didn’t know he’d run into a hospital to avoid you. Hell, you probably shouldn’t have followed him in there. The important thing is no bystanders were hurt,” Q told him.

“Now he’s gone to ground and we won’t find him again for months.”

“Stop grinding your teeth,” Q told him sternly. Bond relaxed his bunched jaw muscles a fraction. Q hummed his approval. “We’ve started monitoring his known aliases, email addresses and his bank accounts. We’ll get him.” 

Bond tried to gulp the drink and winced as the carbonation slowed him down. Q reached out for him, pulling him in by his hips. 

“You make shitty drinks,” Bond complained and set his glass on the counter before wrapping his arms around Q.

Q snorted. “Your idea of a good drink right now is my entire bottle of Finlandia and a questionably clean glass.” Q ran his hands up Bond's’ back. Every muscle was drawn tight.

Bond nuzzled into Q’s hair. “I hate losing.”

Q sighed. “We can’t win them all. You have the best success record in Six. No one is going to blame you for this. M isn’t angry.”

“M’s acceptance of an occasional mission failure as a...what? A statistical inevitability? It’s supposed to be a comfort? I’d rather he rant at me.”

Q dug his fingers into Bond’s skin. “You want to be punished, don’t you? It’ll make you feel better. Even if you’re not responsible, you’re going to let it eat at you otherwise, aren’t you?”

Bond leaned into Q’s pinch. “As you so observed, I could just drink it away. Or find someone for sex…”

Q growled softly. They didn’t talk about whatever sort of thing had been happening between them over the last few weeks- hadn’t bothered to put a name to it. ‘Dating’ sounded trite but would probably be accurate. They had fallen into bed together after a few nights out, but they certainly weren’t monogamous. So Q had little to object to if Bond wanted him as a bed partner or decided to fuck someone’s wife. It irked him, though. Especially when Bond was...vulnerable. Q would never say it out loud to him, but the word settled in his head all the same.

“Let’s try something else instead.” Q pressed Bond away and gestured to a door that opened to a set of steps down to his home garage and workshop on the ground level of his flat.

“Tinkering?” Bond’s eyes flickered back towards Q’s bedroom, clearly disappointed.

“No, but I could mete out the type of thing you say you want down there without the neighbors calling the Met. I’d like to avoid that, if it’s all the same to you. Think of a safeword while I set things up.” 

Q went down the steps and was not at all surprised when Bond chose to follow.

~~~

Q carefully hung his cardigan over the stool of his workbench. His took his time getting himself ready, knowing Bond was watching him silently and kneeling on the flattened cardboard box that was his only protection between his bare knees and the cement floor. 

Bond was a lovely sight, Q thought. Stripped to his pants, skin pebbling in the cooler temps of the garage. Q hadn’t tied him- he wanted to see if Bond could hold himself in position without any restraining aids to act as reminders. Q wanted Bond to really understand he was choosing to submit to him. 

“Don’t bend your cuffs.” Bond smirked as Q rolled up his sleeves.

Q enjoyed their normal banter but now wasn’t the time for it. He reached down, grabbed a fistfull of Bond’s hair and pulled, forcing his head back to expose his throat. Bond’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he had to arch backwards or lose some strands. “That’s quite enough from you,” Q scolded before letting go and allowing Bond’s head to drop. 

Bond peered up at Q, looked like he was going to reply, but snapped his mouth shut. Instead, his blue eyes sparkled with something like anticipation.

Q had only chosen two items from his tool chest- he didn’t believe in a lot of fussy props for a scene, and done right, he didn’t feel like they were needed. The first was a leather flogger he had placed on his workbench, letting Bond get a good look at the long leather falls draping over the side of the table as Q got himself ready. The second thing he had tucked away behind Bond and out of his sight, to be revealed later.

Q took the flogger off the bench and bent down in front of Bond. “What’s the safeword?”

“Bentley,” Bond replied. “We don’t need a safeword. I won’t use it.”

“This isn’t an interrogation. You’re supposed to be getting something out of it- it’s not simply an experience to be endured. If it’s not working for you, we stop. Got that?” Q kept his voice firm and even- his mission voice, the one Bond trusted over the coms.

Bond nodded, but Q wasn’t sure he quite understood. He’d have to be extra careful with him; that’s why Q didn’t want to hand him over to anyone else. 

“I’ve seen you come back from broken fingers, burns, and worse when you’ve been put to the question. This isn’t about pain tolerance and I don’t think you are that much of a masochist, so this isn’t about hurting you.” Q cocked his head to the side and thought about his phrasing. “No, scratch that. I mean, it _will_ hurt. That’s kind of the point,” Q grinned as he tangled his fingers through the the oiled leather strips of the flogger.

Bond’s eyes followed Q’s fingers. “You’re going to punish me.”

“Yes. I’m going to whip you so you can stop self-flagellating. You cause a lot more harm to yourself than I ever will. Put your palms on the floor and keep them there. Head down and eyes closed. We’re done when I think you’re done, unless you use your safeword.” 

Q trailed the flogger over Bond’s shoulders as he got into position behind him. It was his favorite, well balanced in his hand with narrow falls, just right when he wanted to give his sub some sting. He took a long, deep breath, twitched his fingers around the handle and twisted his wrist, let the leather tickle down the back of Bond’s back, then exhaled. He loved the first strike and always drew the experience out. Q had one of the most dangerous men in the world bowed at his feet by his own volition- it was something to savor.

He took another breath, lifted the handle, and brought the flogger down. Bond tensed as it slapped the back of his shoulder, but that was all. It hadn’t been a hard hit, just a little hello. Q waited a couple of seconds, just in case Bond had second thoughts, before moving to strike the opposite shoulder.

He worked in a predictable pattern, putting a little more force behind the blows each time. He watched the long line of Bond’s back, how he flinched and eventually, arched towards the strikes more than he tried to move away from them. Q smiled and slapped the falls down on him harder, letting them sting. Bond hissed but Q didn’t give it much mind, carefully observing his body’s reactions, finding them more telling. 

Q continued, varying the intensity of the flogging, but keeping up a regular rhythm and pattern. Bond had stilled, had stopped leaning in, had stopped flinching or making any sound at all. Q slowed and gentled the strikes until he stopped, dragging the tails gently over Bond’s reddened back. Q reached down and touched his skin- it was hot to the touch and sweat beaded on the back of Bond’s neck.

Q stepped back and set the flogger down before he picked up the handle of his other tool, the one he kept out of James’ sight. He hefted a plastic bucket as high as he could and quietly moved forward and drizzled ice cold water down James’ abused flesh. James yelped and flinched, almost flattening himself to get away from the shock. 

“Steady on, Bond,” Q told him as Bond struggled to hold his position as Q kept slowly emptying the bucket. Bond cursed loudly and a giggle escaped Q. When the water was gone, he threw the empty bucket away with a hollow clunk. 

“You have now been cleansed of your sins,” Q intoned with mock-seriousness. “We’re done. You can sit back now.”

Bond turned around to glare at Q. “You’re an arse! A twelve year-old arse. Cold water?”

Q couldn’t help himself- he covered his mouth and snickered.

“My skin feels like it’s on fire!” bond whinged, scooting out of the puddle he was sitting in.

“That’s the idea, yes. A bit like jumping into a cold pond after you’ve been in a sauna.” Q watched the water slowly find it’s way into the drain in the floor of the garage. “How are you feeling?”

“Wet and annoyed!” Bond grumbled. “Otherwise I’m alright.”

Q leaned down and offered Bond his arm, making sure he was steady enough to rise. “The downside of the garage is I need to get you upstairs. Can you make it?” Bond nodded and Q wrapped a firm hand behind his elbow and helped him up to his flat again. Q could feel he was shivering, likely just from the shock of the water. However, the tension that had almost had him vibrating earlier, had gone.

He lead Bond into the toilet so he wouldn’t be dripping water onto his carpets. He went to get a few towels out of the cupboard and when he had turned around, Bond had shimmied out of his wet pants. Q couldn’t help notice that despite the cold, Bond was half-hard.

Q draped a towel around Bond’s shoulders. “It will feel tender, but your back is fine.” 

Bond turned to Q’s mirror and twitched away the towel to view his pink but unmarred skin. Q picked up another towel and started to dab the water off Bond’s chest. Q’s eyes lingered at his groin and he swallowed. Bond was unfairly gorgeous.

Bond had grown quiet and there was something softer around the corners of his sharp blue eyes. It wasn’t an uneasy silence, but the sort where nothing needed to be said as the time stretched out peacefully. Bond leaned against the counter and Q dried Bond’s hair, so close to him so they were breathing each other’s air. 

“You did really well tonight,” Q told him quietly, petting him more than drying him off. 

Bond exhaled softly.

“Do you think this is what you were looking for? We can adjust things, next time. It helps the more you talk to me, you know. The more you can trust me.” Q dabbed at the sides of Bond’s face tenderly.

“Trust you? Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t?” Bond asked, tilting his head into Q’s hand. 

It turned into a kiss without conscious thought, slow, deep and lingering. Q let the towel slip out of his hand so he could tenderly cup the back of Bond’s head. Bond’s arms wrapped around Q’s back and pulled him in closer. This wasn’t a power game anymore, but the give and take of lovemaking.

Bond slid a hand between them to pluck at the buttons on Q’s shirt, expertly opening the placket without breaking their kiss. Q sighed as their bare chests finally met, tilting his head back so Bond could lip at his throat while he tugged the fabric free. Bond’s hands found the curve of Q’s arse and snugged their hips together, and both of them moaned when they started a sweet grind. 

Q opened his eyes and saw Bond was watching him with dark eyes and parted lips. Q couldn’t look away and something sparked- ignited- and it was much more than just lust. They had had sex before, but nothing quite like what was happening now. Neither of them wanted to drop their eyes, to lose the connection.

Q felt Bond wiggle his hand to the front of his trousers to free the fasteners and his trousers and pants dropped, the fabric bunching around his ankles. Q shifted his feet to adjust the angle, to mold their bodies back together. He made a face as he realized he was hobbled by the damn clothes. Bond’s eyes crinkled and Q smiled.

“You have your bloody shoes on still,” Bond chuckled. Q laughed and pulled away to awkwardly toe them off without falling over. Bond held his arm so Q could balance, and by the time Q had shucked the shoes and his trousers, both of them were giggling.

They were still grinning when they came back together, Q humming happily when they touched skin to skin. Q couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much in a scene or during sex. He looked up at Bond, who for now, seemed carefree- his face softening, especially when sneaking a tickle on Q’s ribs that made him squeak and squirm. That had felt nice, so Q wriggled against Bond again, who dipped in for another long kiss.

Silliness forgotten, Q moved his hips so they could align their cocks and rock together, Bond leaning on the counter to stabilize their motion. Q had a fleeting idea to suggest they move to the bedroom, but a particularly good roll of their bodies made it float away. Bond was grazing his teeth over the notch on the back of Q’s jaw and Q gasped.

“That’s it; come on you gorgeous thing,” Bond murmured in his ear. Q hooked an ankle behind Bond’s calf for leverage. They didn’t have anything but precome to help slick the way, but the extra friction was satisfying. Bond’s hand returned to knead Q’s arse and to help press their grinding where Bond wanted it. 

Q felt Bond getting close, his cock swelling even harder between them. He scratched the sensitized skin of Bond’s back and that sent him over, sighing into Q’s hair. Q held him through it before he took himself in hand, Bond murmuring encouragement as he added to the mess between their bellies. 

Q rested on Bond’s broad shoulder until his breathing slowed. “Hmm. We’re strategically located near the shower.”

“Always one step ahead, our Q,” Bond said moving them to the stall. 

Q let him go to open the glass door and turn on the taps, keeping the water temperature just warm, so not to irritate Bond’s back. He pulled Bond inside and they quickly discovered that the shower was not sized for two grown men. Q almost got Bond’s elbow in his face when reaching for the shower gel, which set off another round of laughing as they maneuvered to try to wash each other and take turns under the spray.

“This is ridiculous!” Q snickered, trying to stand back and rinse soap off his crotch. “Usually shower scenes in films are more romantic.”

Bond did his level best to plaster himself to the side of the tiled wall so Q could get under the shower. “This isn’t romantic?”

“No, someone is going to fall and break his head open,” Q laughed. “A&E is not my idea of fun.”

“This _is_ fun, though,” Bond bent his head so Q could rub shampoo through his hair. He hummed. When Q scratched his scalp he almost purred.

“It is,” Q replied, thinking. Something big was bubbling to the surface between them, he could feel it. It had been expanding for weeks, neither of them ready yet to give it a name, to call it what it was.

They finished in the shower, leaving a pile of wet towels and puddles on the floor and stumbled into Q’s unmade double bed. 

“Your bed is as small as your shower,” Bond whinged as they fitted together.

“Hmmm. Sorry. Bachelor. Saves space,” Q murmured, starting to feel sleepy. 

Q yawned and Bond pulled the duvet over them and clicked off the bedside lamp. “You could fit a king, easily.”

“Why? It would be a waste just for…” Q’s eyes snapped open in the darkness. It felt like butterflies had made a home in his belly. “James?”

Bond hummed. “If we want to stop dancing around and admit we’re seeing each other, then I’d damn well sure appreciate not clinging to the side of your bed when I stay over. Unless you’d rather come to mine, but I don’t have a handy garage.”

“Oh,” Q said. Swallowed. Realized the excited tingle he was feeling at the moment was happiness and not fear. “I suppose I should get to ordering a new one, then.”

“In the morning," Bond said, holding Q tighter.

“Yes, in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the usual suspects: Beaubete, Anarfea and Prudent_Curiosity


End file.
